Secrets
by StitchAndRepair
Summary: Just a one shot about Mickey and the secrets that he keeps. Rated M just to be sure.


Hi. Am new to this so this is my first attempt at FanFic. I'm obsessed with the show and can't wait for the new season to start! I hope you all like it :) and if you don't, then just humour me lol.  
**  
I own nothing, just my imagination.  
**

He'd been out of hospital for a month. He was kept in for observation and had discharged himself as soon as he could. Mandy and Ian hadn't left his side since and it drove Mickey fucking crazy. Nobody else knew, just the two of them. Mandy asked him questions constantly, asking him why he did it, was he depressed and if so, why had he kept it a secret for so long?

But he never answered. Because Mickey hadn't known why he'd done it, except he was drunk at the time and it seemed like a good idea and even now, Mickey sometimes thought it was still a good idea. But he couldn't say that, couldn't see that helpless look on his sister's face. The eyes full of guilt and apologies and so many fucking questions. So he wouldn't say it. He'd just keep it a secret.

Mickey had a lot of secrets.

Mickey had tried to kill himself once before.  
When he was 14 he was watching a film with Mandy. Some shitty film that she made him watch because she had a crush on the lead actor. And the guy was half naked, his upper body covered with muscles and tattoos and Mickey was confused and angry as his dick twitched in his pants.  
Later that night he was trying to jerk off to the poster of a naked girl on his ceiling but it was only when he thought of the half-naked guy from the shitty film that he got hard. And he hated it. Hated himself for enjoying the images in his brain. He hated that because he enjoyed it, he could never make his dad proud. Could never be the man his dad wanted him to be. He hated that he was someone that his dad wanted to watch burn.  
So he took an overdose. Took all the pills he could find in the house and chased them with a bottle of his dad's tequila.  
He'd passed out and remembered feeling so light and happy as everything faded to black.  
When he came around 12 hours later, groggy with a splitting headache, he had let himself cry.  
Only for a moment.  
Because nobody had found him, nobody had even looked. Not even Mandy.  
And when he went to the bathroom and saw his fucking reflection, he had punched the mirror over and over again and fell in love with the pain of his knuckles splitting open, the blood as it had pumped extra fast through his veins, a rush of noise echoing loudly in his ears as his heart beat faster and faster.

The thing Mickey remembered was the beating he got from his dad that night for drinking all of the tequila. His dad never questioned him about the missing pills and Mickey never told.

Mickey had a lot of secrets.

Some were big ones, like when he was 10 and his dad took him out to a field and made his brothers hold his eyes open whilst Terry tortured and eventually killed a guy that owed him money. His very own initiation. _Welcome to the family business, son._  
Mickey remembered the lump in his throat. That was the only time Terry had called him son and a part of him, the lost little boy inside him, had loved it. But he knew his dad would punch him for thinking such faggy thoughts, so he kept it to himself.

Some secrets were so big that sometimes he thought he would drown in them, like the fact that he was gay. Or the way his heart would race when Ian walked into his line of sight, or smiled that stupid fucking smile of his; And that when Ian wasn't around him, Mickey's heart physically ached for him and his chest felt like it was constricting, his whole body on edge, ready to explode. Mickey really fucking hated that. Mickey really hated that he has no control when it comes to Gallagher. His Firecrotch. He hates knowing that if Ian asked him to give him the world, Mickey would die trying.  
But he couldn't let Ian know because then that would make things real and Ian would leave him behind and that was Mickey's biggest fear. So he kept those feelings to himself and insulted Gallagher instead, telling him to fuck off if he ever showed any sign of affection.

Another secret is that he hates everything about himself. He looks exactly like his mom and she is all he sees when he looks in the mirror. When he looks in the mirror all he can hear is her voice, screaming at him that she hated him. Terry forced her to have him because he wouldn't cough up the money for an abortion and all she wanted was a little girl. He can remember when she was drunk and screaming at him he could see his reflection in the mirror. His 6 year old face, eyes watery, as his mom told him that he was good for nothing and never would be. He was the boy that nobody wanted, except he thought maybe his mom sometimes did and her words were just said in drink-fuelled anger, but she had just left. And she didn't fight for him like she did for Mandy. She never even asked to take him. That was the first time his heart broke, but nobody was around to listen and the pain was too much so Mickey didn't even try to tell.

He hates his body because of all the scars, each with its own story and he hates every single mark.  
Like the one on his shin that still niggled with pain whenever somebody touched it. He'd got that after his dad had stabbed him with his own penknife for spilling the milk at breakfast.  
Like the one below his ribcage where Nicky had pinned him down and Joey had poked him as hard as he could with the end of a pool cue in the same spot until it broke his skin.  
Like the ones across his knuckles that never really got a chance to heal. That probably never would because he was a Milkovich and he had to fight whether he liked it or not.

He was jealous too. Of everybody. Of Nicky and Joey, because their mom wanted them and loved them. They only came in to Terry's care when Mickey was 2 and their mom died. Jealous of Mandy because their mom wanted her so badly and fought so hard to take her with her when she fucked off. But Terry had won and Mandy had stayed. He was jealous of Ian because although his family was fucked up, they were together. One person's problem or celebration was everybody's problem or celebration and they stuck by each other no matter what. None of them cared that Ian was gay, they supported him even. Mickey really hated that. Except, he thought, maybe he didn't. Because he likes knowing Ian is safe and protected, even when he's not around.

Mickey was in the shower when he heard Ian's footsteps in the other room. He hated that he could recognize the other boy's movements and he hated the effect that they had on him.  
He was standing with his head under the shower, the water drumming down on his head and his eyes were scrunched tight.

When Mickey was a kid, he had a fear of water. His mom had told him that if he scrunched his eyes really tight then nothing bad could get to him and he would be safe. It was the only time she'd given him any kind of advice and he'd really believed it at the time and even though he was older and knew fucking better, he still found himself doing it.  
Standing under the shower with his eyes closed so tight he saw red and black spots behind his eye lids.  
Sometimes, if he closed them hard enough, he could pretend he was 5 again. With his mom sitting at the edge of the bath tub, her cigarette ash falling in the water with him and the smoke mingling with the steam, telling him to hurry the fuck up because she was missing some bullshit reality show that was on.  
Mickey always loved the way she would wrap him tightly in the towel afterwards, he'd pretend she was hugging him and that for just a little moment they were normal. A normal family with parents who loved each other and kids that were adored.  
Except it wasn't like that. Because Mickey's bath times usually ended with Terry coming in to take a piss and using Mickey as a fucking ashtray and picking a fight with his mom. When Terry would leave the bathroom, Mickey would try and comfort his mom but every time she would push him away and slap him extra hard in the chest and cry against the side of the tub and Mickey would watch helplessly until she pushed him out of the room.  
But for those few minutes, between the water and Terry, Mickey could pretend.

His eyes were still scrunched tight as Ian snaked his arms around Mickey's waist, lathering the soap already on Mickey's stomach, his tongue flicking over a scar on Mickey's shoulder.  
A scar in the form of Ian's teeth marks. Mickey bit his cheek to stop from smiling as Ian's thumb ran absentmindedly over a scar at the top of Mickey's thigh.

Mickey hated that Ian knew him so fucking well. He hated that Ian knew how uncomfortable Mickey felt being naked in front of him any time other than during sex and how he wouldn't look at his own reflection in the mirror unless it was necessary. He hated that Ian knew every fucking thing about him without Mickey having to say a damn word.  
Ian's fingers traced over the fading pink line on one of Mickey's wrists. That was the scar Mickey hated the most. It was his most recent and Mandy made him put some fucking cream on it a few times a day so that it would eventually be barely visible and she wouldn't have to be reminded that her brother was a complete fuck-up. He couldn't even get suicide right.

Ian shut off the water and turned Mickey's head towards the mirror on the opposite wall and held it there until Mickey looked at the two of them. Except Mickey was only looking at Ian. _His_ Ian. With his red hair dripping wet and his wide eyes and his freckles, that Mickey secretly loved and had tried counting on more than one occasion. And he couldn't understand why he'd been so fucking lucky, but he wasn't about to question it.  
Ian's chin was resting on Mickey's shoulder, one arm holding Mickey's body against his own and the other still cupping the dark haired boy's chin. Ian smiled softly at him and looked at him in the way that made Mickey want to look away, except he never could, because everything Ian felt for him, and for all the reasons Mickey couldn't understand, was written plainly across his face.

Mickey looked away first, finding a spot on the floor and he felt Ian smile into his shoulder and pucker his lips against it. And Mickey smiled to himself. Just for a moment.  
Because Mickey always felt like smiling when he was around Ian. And just for that moment, Mickey felt good.  
And he didn't mind being naked, or gay, or covered in scars.  
In fact he was proud. Just for that moment.

He was proud of the scar on his middle knuckle that he got from punching Robert Deacon in the head for kissing Mandy when she didn't want him to. He was proud of the scar on his shoulder that claimed him as Ian's. Proud of the bruises on his hips and spine, the crescent shaped imprints from hands that held on too tightly, fingers that dug in for a few moments too long. He was proud of the gunshot scar on his leg and he was proud of the guy standing behind him who Mickey loved and made him want to do crazy things, like say those words out loud.

And for a moment, that moment, he was tempted.


End file.
